


We have problems

by spookful



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookful/pseuds/spookful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Sips and Lewis are ultra gay dads together, and I love them a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We have problems

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: While this is RPF, it should not be perceived as real life. This is strictly set in an AU where these possibilities are just that -- possibilities. Furthermore, I am the copyright holder of this work, and these rights should not be infringed upon in anyway, up to and including having this fic read on a livestream. Thank you.

The day had been pretty goddamn long to say the least. There was his flight out of Jersey before the sun had bothered to rise, and that was followed by an entire evening of nothing but trains and taxis. Of course, there was still a fuckton of walking around to do as soon as he’d arrived in Anaheim. He had to sign this, and that, and catch up with a lot of people he couldn’t remember the names of, and then there was Sjin and Duncan with the, “ _Come on! Just a few drinks, man. It’s Blizzcon! We’re free to do what we want, right?_ ”

So Chris felt entirely justified in hogging the shower for an inordinate amount of time. Lewis probably wouldn’t even bother washing up till the morning. Mostly because the bastard had tried to drink everyone under the table and would have if not for Chris dragging his ass back up to their room after one too many outlandish remarks about their waiter. The lady had a nice rack, sure, but the entire restaurant didn’t need to know that.

Sighing, Chris reluctantly stumbled out of the tub and did a quick dry down before swiping his hair with a nearby comb. There was a momentary battle with the towel, but, once it was anchored, Chris went out in search for his suitcase, debating on underwear or sweat pants. With how fucking cold the room was, the latter seemed far preferable, but, fuck -- did he ever sweat at night sometimes. “Fucking -- could you have turned the AC any goddamn lower, Lewis? ... _Lewis_. For _fuck’s_ sake.”

“What! _What_?”

“You’re not gonna fuckin’ jerk off while I’m bunking with you, okay? Christ. Cut that shit out.” Lewis snorted dismissively and, really, that should have been the end of that, but, as Chris began to wrangle his sweat pants out from the bottom of his bag, a rather over the top moan had him looking back over again. “Seriously?”

“Not like you’re gonna fuckin’ stop me.”

“Look, we’re really fucking drunk right now, I’m tired -- just. Let’s just head to bed already. For fuck’s sake.”

With what looked like a seductive face, and possibly a passable one at that if not for being attempted by _Lewis_ of all people, another overly pornographic moan let out, and their neighbors must have really fucking thought something crazy was going on in here. If only they knew it was just a pissed Brit and his stupid attempts at proving....who the fuck even knew? _Something_.

“The room’s gonna smell like jizz when the guys wake us up. So just...just go get off in the shower. Or you can do it later when I fucking cream your ass in Hearthstone again -- I’ll have to make sure to stream it at some point. Just how fucking salty you get when I beat you…”

Lewis clearly didn’t give a shit about what Chris was saying. He seemed way more interested in drunkenly palming himself through his jeans right then; which was undoubtedly giving him some serious zipper rub. There was just no way the man could have shoved briefs under those jeans -- they were already one step away from potentially cutting off his circulation.

With a slightly disgruntled face, Chris shoved off his towel in favor of pulling up his sweats. There were several things that could be done to make Lewis to stop being a complete cunt. Perhaps no long term solutions, but...there were some things that might momentarily shut his ass up. Which was increasingly important considering how they had to spend the entirety of tomorrow on their feet again.

The sudden flash of concern in Lewis’ expression as Chris walked over was nearly enough to make him pause, half-tripping on his discarded towel, but, really...Lewis had had way more than one too many at the pub. They both needed to try and sleep it off before the sun rose in a few hours, and, if they were especially lucky, neither of them would remember this afterwards. “Sips --”

“I told you to fucking cut that shit out already,” Chris said without intonation, twisting Lewis’ arm up and off his crotch. “So are you gonna fucking stop? Or do I have to fucking make you?”

A long silence didn’t seem good enough of an answer. Mostly because Lewis’ face didn’t really scream of repentance or regret right then -- there was just another twist of irritation that quickly changed back to arrogance. “Fucking let go of me.”

“Or what?”

“I said _let go_ \--”

“Or fucking _what_?”

In a sudden rush, Chris felt a sharp pain as Lewis pushed up to bite at his lower lip, splitting it on impact. The smear of blood that was left behind on both their mouths, and that satisfied laugh that spilled out of Lewis afterward, was just enough for Chris to realize he was far more invested in this than he first thought. Whether it was his dick talking or the alcohol, there was really no way to ignore all the knots now twisting around in his stomach.

“You’re such an asshole,” Chris said distractedly, other hand coming to rest on Lewis’ throat. There was still no submission to be found in Lewis’ face, however. “All you had to do was stop rubbing your dick in front of me, but I guess that’s too fucking difficult for you, huh?”

When their mouths met again, Chris took a moment to press down a little harder on Lewis’ neck, forcing another one of those overly lewd noises out. Lewis twisted desperately into the touch, and... _fuck_  all the inevitable conversations about how this never happened come morning time. Just fuck all that. That was goddamn hours away, and right now there was Lewis’ tongue and the sharp bitter taste of copper and liquor. There was Lewis’ other hand trying to make Chris squeeze down harder, and there were these short, strained noises that made Chris’ dick harder than before. 

“You’re...you’re so fucking stupid --” Those gasped out words were followed by a hard pull on Chris’ sweats, tumbling him down. An unexpected shove had him pinned on the bed with Lewis’ legs keeping him just barely in place. Had they both not been so fucking intoxicated -- well, a lot of things would be different, but Chris would have definitely been able to buck Lewis off. That restless determination in Lewis’ face served as too much of a deterrent for now though.

“Yeah? Is that right?”

“I fucking told you you couldn’t stop me, didn’t I?”

That arrogance was cut short as Chris decided to palm a little too roughly at Lewis’ dick. With the smallest amount of effort, Lewis went willingly back down to the mattress, and Chris had to try and not focus on the sweat chilling his skin. A moment of intense concentration had Lewis’ jeans undone and -- holy _shit_. “I fucking _knew_ it. You fucking slimy bastard.”

There was totally nothing on underneath those jeans. Chris couldn’t help the snort of laughter that came out as he finally got them wrestled down, but a small wince hit him at the sight of the deep red marks along the shaft. The noises that spilled of the man when Chris brushed his fingers across them made him seem not too bothered about it though. “You fucking try putting underwear on with those -- it’s not fucking easy.”

Spindly legs trapped Chris’ hips far too close to Lewis’ own, but that soon devolved into not nearly enough, because, fuck -- the way Lewis looked as he grinded himself against his thigh, smearing precome all down the cotton. God, that was something else entirely. Chris was just not prepared for that in the slightest. “ _Lewis_. These were fucking clean a minute ago.”

An uninterested shrug served as the only reply before Lewis shoved at them irritably. “Why’d you even fucking put them on the first place then? Maybe they’d have stayed clean if you hadn’t...” Chris wanted to come up with a reasonable answer for that, but it was really hard to think about much of anything when Lewis finally got his fingers around his dick. “Should’ve just not even fucking brought them.”

“Yeah?” Chris’ thighs were suddenly burning as Lewis’ fingernail traced a rough line down his shaft. “Yeah, I fucking -- I probably shouldn’t have packed any fucking clothes. Fuck --” The arousal made it too fucking difficult to stay upright, and, to be honest, Lewis was way more comfortable than expected, the bony bastard. “Everyone needs to know about my sweet gains.”

Inopportune laughter had Chris pushing their mouths back together, smiling stupidly at the rumble on Lewis’ tongue, and he could find no reason to pull away again. Three fewer pints and way fewer shots probably would have made their fumbled rutting ineffective at best, but somehow their hips still managed to meet with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. Chris' hands seemed to wander aimlessly around until a slight brush against Lewis’ entrance had him moaning far louder than before, nails digging tightly into his shoulders.

Just as Chris expected, or maybe hoped, Lewis’ back bowed clear up off the bed when he was able to work up the courage to push his index finger in, shoving their hips almost painfully together. “S-sips, fucking -- fuck _off_ , fuck. Fuck _me_ \--” The surprising burst of warmth between their stomachs had Chris’ teeth sinking into Lewis’ neck in response, desperately trying to stave off his own orgasm. There were going to be so many unexplainable bruises the next morning. “Shit...shit yeah. _Fuck_!”

The feel of Lewis’ dick shoving against his own suddenly made Chris lightheaded from the rush of arousal, near blinded as he finally began to come. Really, from the start of all this, Chris wanted to try and prove -- well, something. Who the fuck knew what, honestly, but this...this seemed far better. Especially with the way their lips met after Chris had shaken through the last of his climax. That part was just incredible.

“A-alright,” Chris breathed out as he leaned to shut the lamp off, half-giggling as his elbow nearly crashed into Lewis’ face. “Let’s maybe try and get some fucking sleep before sunrise, yeah?”

///

“Fucking... _Lewis_. Lewis, fucking wake up. There’s dried come in my pubes, fuck --” Chris was afraid to even try and pick at any of the mess due to it being so disgusting. Sure, the maid could change their sheets later, but...to make her have to wash their jizz off? That seemed maybe a bit much. Though these beds had probably seen far worse.

“...W-what?”

“ _Up_! Christ, we need a fucking shower. _I_ need a fucking shower. Again.”

“I don’t....”

“Just get up already. For fuck’s sake, Lewis. Come on already --”

Ultimately, the easier option was just dragging Lewis by force to the bathroom after he made it clear he wasn’t going to get up willingly. They were both more than a little hung over, Lewis’ shirt was still on for some goddamn reason, and, god, their breath smelled like collective amounts of ass. “Did we? Shit, Sips did we really --”

Chris shoved the water over to boiling hot before hurrying both of them into the tub, ignoring the mortified look on Lewis’ face. The one look that meant his misplaced sense of personal pride had bubbled up from the thought that he might have fucked up big time. As if them having a little drunken romp together was actually the end of humanity itself. “Look, here. Let me just --”

Of course, Lewis just tried to pull away at first, but eventually Chris managed to get most of the mess off of him, lathering soap through the hairs until they were soft again. “If I was that fucking drunk, you could’ve just let me sleep it off. Just...there had to have been a better option, Sips. Than _this_.”

“Than what? Than us getting each other off? Just fucking say it already. I’m scrubbing come off your dick -- the least you can do is talk to me like a fucking man about it, you big puss. Christ. As if I’d bother to clean this shit off anyone else. You’re fucking welcome, you know?”

That irritable silence that followed meant Lewis was either too hungover to actually say anything right then or was gravely displeased with Chris’ answer. Maybe even both...fuck, it was definitely both. This was Lewis after all. “Look...look, thanks. Okay? But we have to come to some kind of agreement on this.”

Ignoring that last statement, Chris lathered up Lewis’ actual hair and took a long while to scrub at the scalp, letting the water wake him up a bit more. The excuse that it was too early to really talk about this didn’t apply at half past noon, but that was about the only thing that came to mind right then. “Let’s just not worry about it right now. Let’s...let’s just get cleaned up. We’re meeting the guys soon anyways. Maybe Duncan and Sjin can swap dick touching stories with us.”

That uncontrolled snort of laughter had Chris smiling again, sloppily kissing at Lewis’ forehead. They worked their way out of the bathroom after a quick stop at the sink to brush their teeth, Lewis more so lazily holding the brush in his mouth than anything else, before they went to get dressed. “Just...it’s not gonna happen again, right? And that’s what’s important. It happened...and now we can just move on.”

“Fucking...whatever makes you happy, Lewis. Just put some fucking pants on already, and maybe try not to get your balls chafed when you get all sweaty. Christ, you need to buy some fucking underwear already.”

“ _Sips_ \--”

“Sure, Lewis. Fine. What the fuck ever already. We’ve got to meet with the guys downstairs in ten minutes. So you just spend a little time oiling yourself up to get those on, and I’ll go on ahead, okay? Just...fucking whatever’ll help you get over this, yeah?”

That wasn’t what Lewis wanted to hear -- it wasn’t the resounding agreement that he needed to get over that self-doubt flicking in and out of his expression. Chris knew of Lewis’ underlying fear that in some situations he really _could_ lose his composure, and even worse than that was to lose that carefully stringent appearance in front of Chris of all people...Okay, so maybe that last part was just a wildly inaccurate assumption, but that just had to have been part of it somehow.

Because when they had a few drinks too many, when they got a little too high on their long drives out of Bristol, when they were too tired to move from Lewis’ couch -- those memories were all packed up and forgotten quickly in favor of Lewis’ tentative sense of dignity. But _fuck_ all that. Last night _did_ happen, and the bruises on Lewis’ neck would make sure he wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

 


End file.
